Criminal Mischief

51

Said smiled broadly. “By this point, Mr. Zanian is, no doubt, playing chess with the sultan,” he replied.

“And what will be your disposition of him?”

“That remains to be seen.”

Brio reached into her handbag and withdrew an envelope. “Copies of our arrest warrant and application for extradition are enclosed,” she said. “Perhaps they might be of use to you.”

Said accepted them and handed them to an aide. “Perhaps so, at the proper moment.”

Wilcox spoke up, “How will you know when you have reached the ‘proper moment’?”

“Forgive me for sounding venal, but Mr. Zanian has said that he will offer a billion dollars for his release, along with citizenship, a diplomatic passport, and appointment as the sultan’s chief economic adviser.”

“Then,” Stone said, “why hasn’t he come up with the billion dollars?”

“He has constantly expressed a willingness to do so, but complications have arisen.”

“I’m not surprised,” Stone said drily. “What are the complications?”

“The Treasury of the United States has issued a worldwide statement to financial institutions that, should any bank release funds at Mr. Zanian’s request, to any other financial institution, person, or corporation, severe penalties will follow.”

“Bless their little hearts,” Brio muttered.

Said continued, “No financial institution wishes to be on the U.S. Treasury’s... What do you call it?”

“Shit list,” Stone replied.

“Ah, yes. Quite. Shit list.”

“Perfectly understandable,” Wilcox said.

“Mr. Zanian has given us to understand that he has at his immediate disposal a million and a quarter dollars in U.S. currency. While nothing like a billion, this is not as you say, food for chickens.”

“Chicken feed,” Stone said, helpfully.

“Quite so.”

“Actually,” Stone said, “Zanian does not have such a sum at his disposal. I, on the other hand, do.”

“Are you telling me that you are willing to produce such a sum for Zanian?”

“I am telling you that should Viktor Zanian appear before me clean, well-fed, and in shackles, I would be willing to produce such a sum on receipt of an extradition order bearing your signature and seal. Or you can wait an eon or so for the United States Treasury to rescind its order.”

“Then perhaps we can do business, Mr. Barrington.”

“Perhaps we can, as long as it is understood that the sum in question represents the limit of my participation in such an arrangement.”

“You make yourself very plain, sir.”

“How shall we proceed?”

“I must make a few phone calls in pursuit of our deal, but everything is closed for business at this hour.”

“Of course.”

“I shall make these calls tomorrow morning, then be in touch.”

“That is satisfactory. Perhaps at that time you could name a time and place for the delivery of Mr. Zanian’s person.”

“It would have to be at a venue outside the kingdoms of Saud and Saudi Arabia.”

“May I suggest at Cairo International Airport, aboard my airplane?”

“You may, at a date and time to be set later.”

“Not too much later, if you please.”

“Quite. And now, perhaps we should indulge in your quaint Western custom of dinner?”

“As long as it doesn’t involve the participation of a camel,” Stone replied, smiling.

“I shall remark upon that to our chef.” He rose and led them to a beautifully set table.

Two large, thick, and perfectly cooked porterhouse steaks were presented, carved, and served, except that the general was given a rack of lamb. All were given baked potatoes and haricots verts.

“The wines are Syrian,” the general said.

They were deep, dark, and delicious.

Said found it necessary to speak on the telephone a couple of times during dinner, but otherwise, the evening went smoothly, until they were preparing to board the tender for the trip back to their yacht.

“There is one other thing that is important to our transfer of Mr. Zanian,” the general said.

“I’m afraid, General,” Stone said, “that in our previous discussion we set my limits for negotiation, and those I cannot exceed.”

“Please be calm, Mr. Barrington,” the general replied. “This is actually a matter between governments, or rather, between Ambassador Wilcox and me.”

Stone shrugged.

“How may I be of help?” Wilcox asked.

“I wish that the legal department at your embassy will prepare a document for your signature that will remove any possibility of your government taking any steps for the recovery of Mr. Zanian’s Gulfstream jet from the custody of the Sultanate, either in Saud or in any other country of the world, and acknowledging that the aircraft is now the property of the Sultanate.”

“Ah, well,” Wilcox said. “I can foresee two impediments to such an agreement.”

“And what are these ‘impediments’?” Said asked.

“First, any lien on the aircraft held by any financial institution anywhere, to secure, say, a loan, will have to be paid by the Sultanate in advance of the transaction.”

“That is acceptable,” Said said. “What else?”

“The aircraft is owned by Woodchip Corporation now. Because such a transaction involves the transfer of the aircraft from the ownership of an American corporation to a foreign entity, I am of insufficient rank to sign such a document on behalf of the United States. The signature of our secretary of state will be required. Or, of course, our president.”

“Is it possible for you to obtain one of these signatures quickly?”

“I can but try,” Wilcox said, “but I cannot guarantee the outcome.”

“Then speak to whomever you must and give me an answer tomorrow.”

“Of course,” Wilcox said, and they shook hands. “Until tomorrow.”

The party got into the tender, and it started home.

“He was obviously ready with that request earlier in the evening,” Stone said.

“Yes, but he raised the subject at exactly the right moment,” Wilcox replied.

“And you were ready with exactly the right answer,” Stone said.

“I was, in my youth,” Wilcox said, “an attorney-at-law.”